


Love is in the Air (Kill it, Please)

by Waltzfor-Zizi (azro_zee)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff Eater, Not Beta'd, Valentine Week 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azro_zee/pseuds/Waltzfor-Zizi
Summary: [Soul x Maka Valentine Week Collection] It appears that, for Soul Evans and Maka Albarn, realizing they have a crush on the other is mortifying. Even more so when the object of their affection starts noticing things, but—but, oh? Apparently they’re not the only one falling in love?[Day 4: Snowstorm/Ice storm] Summary: “What?” she squeaks, “Why do I have to sit near you?”His eye twitches. “Survival, Albarn. Didn’t the books tell you sharing body heat is a legit way to survive cold weather?”
Relationships: Maka Albarn & Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 16
Kudos: 139





	1. Day 1: Teddy Bears

Soul Evans doesn’t believe in magic.

Fairy tales, curses, witches and wizards, those are all fictions. Sure he likes to watch fantasy movies, once in a while, and he enjoys it when Maka lazily reads Harry Potter aloud as they spend rainy days lazing around his apartment. But this is real life! Magic shouldn’t exist.

Soul Evans doesn’t believe in magic.

But it was until five minutes ago.

If magic doesn’t exist, he wouldn’t sit here completely mute as a fluffy white teddy bear.

Soul doesn’t know how did it precisely happen. He was just wandering around downtown, trying to figure out what valentine gift to give Maka, something a bit further than platonic (because, yes, he dreams of progress, sometimes), but not too much as to be mistaken for romantic (because, no, it’d be totally uncool if his maybe-feelings are unrequited and she takes it the wrong way).

One moment he was scoffing at a stuffed toy shop display and commenting about how lame the valentine cards tied around each stuffed bears were, snorting that those kind of gifts wouldn’t snatch any girl with a right mind. Then there was a sudden chill running down his spine as a voice echoed slyly behind his ear:

_“Then how about you find out for yourself?”_

The next thing he knew, he couldn’t move a single muscle on his body, and everything seemed so unnaturally big. He’s sitting in an empty hall, across a partly-reflective surface that displays nothing except a tiny white teddy bear with red eyes and maroon ribbon tied around its neck, left alone pitifully beside apartment door number 42.

It wasn’t until five minutes of slow but harrowing observation that he realizes the tiny teddy bear is actually _his_ reflection.

He’s spent the next minute convincing himself that this is only a dream, but he can’t lift his fucking hands to pinch himself awake. Absorbed in his self-debate if he’s actually going insane, he doesn’t hear new footsteps nor recognizes the soft voice humming an off-key song until the person stops right in front of him, drops a large bag of groceries, and picks him up.

_Oh, fuck._

_It’s Maka._

His new perspective has altered everything to the point where Soul wasn’t aware he’s actually sitting in front of her apartment.

If someone normally ask him who Maka is, Soul would say that she is his best friend from back in high school, who now has become his coworker slash occasional freeloader, considering she sleeps at his place four times a week and has her own toiletries in his bathroom. But if someone shoves a truth serum down his throat and ask who Maka is, Soul would say that she is his teenage crush and currently the object of his questionable L-word feelings.

His first thought when she lifts him to her face is complete mortification. But then he remembers that there’s no way she’d know it’s him, so he starts to shout her name and flailing his hands, only to realize he can do neither.

Maka tilts him curiously, raising her eyebrow. God, she’s too _close, close, close!_

She pulls out a folded paper that’s been slipped in his ribbon and frowns at it, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Boy, does he want to know.

For a moment, Soul can see her blush being replaced by a surprising amount of ache as something close to disappointment flashing her face. He always hates that expression. She looks so sad and fragile, as if a single push could break her to pieces.

Maka and sad just don’t mix well.

She smooths her face and opens her door, dropping her bag unceremoniously on her couch and the groceries on the kitchen table, but she takes him to her room and hurls him to her bed along with the paper. It’s a good thing he’s currently made of plush, because he can safely bounce back instead of slamming face first onto the headboard. He really should talk to her about the way she treats her things.

His new position allows him to peek at the aforementioned paper. If he still has control over his voice, he’d shriek ‘WHAT?!’ on top of his lungs.

Here’s the words written on the paper, with black ink, _in his handwriting_ :

_Happy Valentine’s day. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but something came up and I must go back to Wales for a few days. In the meantime, you can keep this guy as my substitute. Try not to miss me too much, nerd._

_Love, Soul._

He reads the paper six more times.

What. The. Fuck?!

He doesn’t remember writing that. He doesn’t remember buying her a stupid bear as valentine’s day gift. And more importantly, he doesn’t remember how he was stuck inside that very stupid bear in the first place!

His confused rage halts altogether when his bead eyes catch Maka’s movements. She’s unbuttoning her shirt, and oh… oh—OH!

She’s changing and he’s seeing everything.

Fuck, he doesn’t even have eyelids.

Soul tries his best to think about any other things besides _Maka unclasping her bra and flashing him more than he’d ever fantasized_ and just concentrates on an interesting spot on the wall, but it’s not an easy thing to do because he somehow catches a bellybutton and— _fuck, focus, Soul! Back to the wall!_

Damn it. He really had been taking eyelids for granted.

Finally, she blesses his poor eyes and questionably-existent heart by putting on a shirt. She glances at him, scoffs, and walks out of the room, leaving his still slumped fluffy body to curse the universe in silence.

Soul suggests his current predicament has something to do with the sly whisper he’d heard back at the doll shop. But of course he doesn’t know who it was, and even if he does, he has no idea how to search for them, or even get Maka’s help.

Oh, for the love of mac and cheese, she’ll kill him ten times over if she knows he’d seen her tits.

Brooding, Soul spends the night wondering if this is a temporary thing and dearly wishes that he’ll back in his body in the morning.

Aaaaaand, no such luck. He still has plushy white paws and red ribbons the next morning.

* * *

Day two, she mostly ignores him. Thankfully, she decides to put him among her pile of stuffed animals (he misses his weekly teasing on her ridiculous plush collections) and grants him a new perspective that prevents him for seeing any more changing scenes.

It was not a bad view, of course—if anything, it was _interesting_ —but seeing her naked without her consent disturbs him so much. He had no choice, yes, but it still makes him feel like a creep.

* * *

Day three, she still ignores him. But he notices that she’s stealing glances at her silent phone every other minutes.

* * *

Day five, she glares at him, purses her lips, and mouths ‘idiot’.

* * *

Day eight, she’s growing restless, scrutinizing her phone as if the device had personally insulted her.

* * *

Day twelve, she wakes up in the middle of the night, panting, and covers her face with her fist. There’s nothing Soul want more than to ask her what’s wrong, to wrap her in his embrace, and tell her she’s not alone.

* * *

Day thirteen, she wakes up at night again, but this time she reaches for him, hugging him close to her chest and goes back to a fitful sleep. Soul tries his best not to think about how he’s nestled between her breasts or he might explode.

* * *

Day seventeen, it’s clear that she couldn’t sleep without him snuggled on her chest. Soul thinks he should be used to it by now. He isn’t. He still has no eyelids and she still shoves him onto her cleavage. Unfair.

* * *

Day twenty, she’s starting to talk to him. Mostly to curse him and demanding why he hasn’t called her since Valentine’s day. Soul resentfully wonders if it’s because of the horrid magic binding him, but Maka makes it sound like everyone, including his family and friends, thought that he’s back in Wales, somehow, taking care of an unknown business, and hasn’t even bothered to pick up the calls from his best friend.

How could he pick them up if he’s stuck with plushy paws inside said best friend’s bedroom?

Fucking teddy bears.

* * *

Day twenty-five, she has taken to narrate her entire days at him, much like how she tended to do with his human version. Crap. What wouldn’t he give to make just one sarcastic remark to distract her from crying?

“I miss you, Soul…”

He wants to shout his reply, wants to yell that he’s here.

He misses her too. He really, really misses her too.

Too bad teddy bears don’t have tears.

* * *

Day thirty, exactly a month since he turned into a stuffed bear, Maka breaks down completely.

“Where are you, Soul? Why wouldn’t you talk to me?” she sobs noisily, holding him at arm’s length, giving him a perfect view of her tear-stained face. Soul flails frantically, yelling that he’s there, right in front of her, but it only happens in his mind. His plush limbs are still limp as always and his voice is still missing.

“Are you abandoning me too? Like Papa? Like my Mama?”

No.

No, no, no, no!

Soul mentally shouts, No! He would never! She knows he would never!

He keeps pleading in silence for her to notice him.

But of course she doesn’t. She sniffs and makes a sorrowful smile, propping her chin on her knees. “I was planning to tell you that day, you know?”

Soul stops his mental flailing. _What?_

“On Valentine’s day. I was planning to cook a nice dinner. Set a candle or two. Be sappy. I was going to tell you that I—” she sucks a heavy breath, and if only his lungs are not made of cotton, he would do the same. “—I want to tell you that I… I’ve thought of you as more… more than a friend… for such a long time…”

_What?_

Does the curse make him hearing things?

“You’re never just a friend for me, Soul…” she continues, unaware that she’s practically confessing to him in person. “You’re always so much more… You’re my anchor. My home. The one my heart belongs to…”

Those are all his words. His.

_His._

She shuts her eyes and brings him to her chest, hugging him for dear life. “I love you, Soul… I love you…”

He hugs her back, running his fingers through her silky hair, burying his face on her shoulder, inhaling her sweet, sweet scent.

“I love you too, Maka…”

And for a moment, the whole world freezes.

“…………Soul?”

“Hmm?”

_“SOUL?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!!”_

“Huh? What are you talking about? I’m always he—” he stills as realization dawns on him.

_He has a voice._

_And he has hands._

“HOLY FUCK, I HAVE HANDS!!”

A pillow is smacked right on his face.

“OH GOD, WHY ARE YOU IN MY BED AND _WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!!_ ”

Soul glances down, and holy mother of cheeseballs, _he really is naked_.

“SOUL EVANS YOU FUCKING PERVERT—GET OUT OF MY ROOM!! FUCKING DIE!! DIE!!!”

Snatching a pillow to cover his dignity, Soul reaches over to stop her murdering rage. “Wait, Maka! I can explain! Please!”

God.

How can he explain all of this without getting killed at least six times?

Well, he’ll find a way.

* * *

Kim disperses her spying magic with a triumphant giggle.

Another success.

“You know,” Jackie comments, propping her chin on her hand, “Most cupids would just shoot an arrow or two and be done with it.”

Kim sticks out her nose, already scanning the human crowd for her next target. “And where’s the fun in that?”

Jackie just rolls her eyes.


	2. Day 2: Roses and Ribbons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s here again. It always does, on White Day, every year, without fail.

It’s here again. It always does, on White Day, every year, without fail.

Maka picks up the large bouquet of white roses tied together by a pretty white lacey ribbon, that was previously sitting innocently in front of her apartment door. She then cautiously turns her head left and right, as if she could catch the culprit if she scrutinizes the empty hall hard enough.

Frowning, she purses her lips and brings the flower back inside. The only flower vase she’s ever had is already waiting in the living room corner, ribbon from last year still tied around its neck.

While her hand is busy transferring the pretty flowers into the vase, her mind is buzzing to puzzle who her secret admirer is. Are they even qualified to be called a secret admirer?

This could be a gesture of returning Valentine’s day gifts. But if it’s the case, why does it have to be anonym?

She muses. First of all, she only gives valentine chocolates to a very few people; her Papa (though only very begrudgingly), her god brother Seb Starling, her childhood friend Kid Morton, her best friend Soul Evans, and Soul’s brother Wes.

Papa, Wes, and Kid are all flamboyant enough to give flowers. But they’re also extra enough to be knowledgeable in flower language to know that white roses are not something you give to someone without a romantic thought in mind. Because she happens to read a flower book once and knows that white roses are originally meant love, something that currently being held by their red version. In fact, it symbolizes young love and eternal loyalty.

Her cheeks turn pink at the thought of receiving someone’s romantic love.

To distract herself, she’s back to thinking about her valentine list. Papa usually showers her with jewelries and dinner dates on White Day. In fact, she’ll have one with him tonight. Wes and Kid gives her nice dresses and accessories, but Maka knows it’s more like spoiling their little sister, as Wes and Kid are both engaged. Seb Starling has a mental age of a twelve-years-old and certainly not mature enough to even consider flowers as a legit gift for a woman (she just received a free membership ticket to the local gym as his White Day present, what even).

And Soul… Soul doesn’t believe in valentines and all that crap.

Maka’s heart warms at the thought of him, however. He always complains when receiving chocolates, and flat out whined when he found his locker stuffed full of gifts back in high school. But he _always_ receives her chocolates, even eats them right away, albeit with a fake grumble and half-hearted complaints.

He doesn’t give her anything in particular. Partly because she had playfully said she doesn’t need his gifts if he’s always complaining about her chocolates, and partly because he’d said he would only return a gift from someone he loves.

He never does.

A part of her artlessly wishes that it was _him_ who sent those roses, but she dismisses the thought right away. Her shameless unconditional love for him is best not to be known. He’s already being her best friend and the only man she wholly trusts at all times. They already operate pretty greatly, supporting each other and mocking the world together. No need to complicate things.

* * *

“Maka, could you please visit the florist and confirm everything?”

Maka turns to see Sonya, Wes’s fiancée, shoving a paper to her hands. The Russian cellist looks a little bit overwhelmed, something Maka suspects is caused by the wedding’s forthcoming date. The couple had decided to not receive any help from the Evanses nor the Shakovsky, wanting the wedding to be more personal and not turned out to be another posh gathering of elitist musicians. It doesn’t help that her fiancé can be a little airheaded in organizing something, so Maka had volunteered herself to help.

“Wait, Sonya! I said I’ll go!” Soul’s voice comes from behind them before Maka could answer.

“You’re needed to supervise the band and choosing the music. You know Wes won’t choose anything you don’t approve seriously, and that man needs forever to decide something!” Sonya sticks out a finger to him.

“But—”

“Soul, I have the records! Come here!” Wes called from the other room.

Sonya tilts her head as if saying ‘See?’ and Soul sends a low curse to his brother. Maka beams, “It’s okay, Soul. I’ll go.”

“But, Maka—”

“Soul!”

“Goddammit, Wes! Just wait a fucking second!”

Maka laughs and picks her coat, already walking to the door. “It’s fine really, Soul. Go before he breaks all the windows calling your name. Is there anything else I have to do, Sonya?”

“Hmm, maybe you can visit Liz after that? You’re the only bridesmaid who haven’t done last-minute fitting.”

“’Kay.”

“Wait, Maka—”

“Soleil Arthur Evans!!”

Maka lets out one more giggles when Soul’s curses ring loudly and slips away from the house.

The florist turns out to be very efficient, so Maka doesn’t have to do much. She even got a spare time before her dress-fitting session with Liz, so she starts to look around the flower shop. It’s owned by Wes and Soul’s childhood friend, Anya Hepburn, surprisingly. It has a wide range of rare flowers and is known of its pretty custom-made bouquet decorations.

Maka has just admired the crystal chains in the bouquet accessory section when her eyes catch a familiar design of white ribbon.

It’s the same one as the ribbon currently tied around her white rose vase.

“It’s our special White Day ribbon, Miss.”

Maka jumps a little and whips her head to find an employee smiling at her. Her name tag spells ‘Tsugumi’.

“Our shop releases limited edition ribbons every holiday, and it’s the last one from this year’s White Day batch.” She holds out the receipt on the wedding expenses and ask Maka to sign it.

Maka blinks and stops her pen halfway through writing her name, “Wait—it’s a limited edition?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t find it in other shops?”

“No, Miss.”

Maka gulps. Then… then it means her secret bouquet sender is a customer of this very flower shop.

Half of her wants to demand the employee to tell her, but the other half shuts it down, reasoning that there’s no way they’re going to let her look at their customer list. And frankly, for all she knows, her person could very well order everything on anonym.

Tsugumi receives the receipt, strips a copy and gives it back to Maka, unaware of the inner turmoil in her head. But when she looks at Maka’s name, she immediately brightens. “Oh, so you’re Maka Albarn!”

Maka falls back to earth. “Excuse me?”

Tsugumi giggles, “I always wonder what kind of person Mr. Soul’s girlfriend is. It is endearing to watch him so flustered every time he orders your roses.”

_What?_

Maka’s heart stops beating for a second before starting in double speed.

“Mr. Soul?!”

“Yes,” Tsugumi tilts her head, a little confused. “He always goes here for your White Day presents, Miss.”

“It’s… him?”

“Well, of course—oh!” Tsugumi’s eyes widen, both of her hands flying to cover her mouth. “Y-you didn’t know?! Oh—oh my god, I’m so sorry…”

“Tsugumi!”

A beautiful blonde girl strides over and gives Tsugumi a frown before she turns to Maka. “I’m very sorry, Miss Albarn. I didn’t intend for you to find out this way.”

Maka demands, “Is it really him?!”

The blonde girl, who Maka later knows is Anya Hepburn herself, sighs, “Yes. He had always requested for anonymity.” She grumbles something that suspiciously sounds like ‘what a chicken!’ under her breath.

Maka bolts out of the shop, planning to murder one Evans brother.

“Tell him to just man up already!” Anya shouts behind her, but Maka’s heart is too overwhelmed by this revelation to hear that.

It’s him.

It’s always been him.

She had told him all about the white roses. About the ribbons. About her wonder.

But he only laughed.

He only laughed and teased her whenever she talked about the roses.

After all this time she’s been murdering her own hopes that he’s the one sending the flowers; after she’d killed her own feelings so many times.

How dare he.

_How dare he!_

She doesn’t remember her drive back to Wes’s place. All she knows is six different methods to grill her best friend she’d thought along the way.

He’d lied by omission.

He’d watched her wondering and hoping like an idiot. All. This. Time.

Maka Albarn hates to be lied to. And Soul Evans definitely knows that.

Maka storms Wes’s door open to reveal three shocked faces. “Soul Evans! We need to talk!”

“About what?” Soul answered dumbly. God. She wanna slap him.

Sonya, always the best in reading the atmosphere, pulls Wes’s arm and stands. “Wesley, dear, I think it’s the time we pick up your tux from the tailor.”

“But wait, Sonya—” Wes protests, clearly sensing the forthcoming entertainment.

“If we don’t go right now we’ll be stuck in the traffic,” Sonya pulls harder, ignoring her fiancé’s whines and drags him out of the room.

Maka makes a mental note to thank her later. But now, she has a best friend to interrogate.

Soul appears to sense her anger, sitting straighter as she made her way to stand right in front of him. “Uhh… Am I in trouble?”

Oh, he damn is.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she slits her eyes, almost hearing him gulps.

“Wha—oh…” he cringes when she sticks out Hepburn Florist’s receipt. “Yeah…”

“Why did you keep it from me?”

He makes a face, eyes shying away. “Just because.”

Maka leans in, placing her fists on her hips, “Soul Evans, speak clearly to my face!”

He sighs, pulling back his eyes to face hers with a grumble.

“Why did you do it?”

He just stares at her for a minute before sighs again and slumps back to his chair. Maka knows she wins. “I just… I just don’t want to destroy what we have. I’m so tired of seeing you fake a laugh every time your friends ask about your love life or hearing your self-deprecating jokes that you’re not exactly a girlfriend material,” he mutters exasperatedly.

Maka’s mouth parts slowly.

Yes, she always feels a little glum whenever she thinks about her love life, but part of it was because she had to conceal her ever growing feelings for him.

She had no idea he thought that way.

“I value our friendship so much but I—I kind of really love you too, so I… I just… I want you to know, at least, that there’s someone out there who’s not only liking you that way, but also devoted to you and willing to sacrifice everything for you. You’re an astounding person, Maka, I want you to be loved. But—but I don’t know how you’ll react. And I sort of… scared that I’ll break our friendship. I have no confidence that you’ll—”

His following words are cut off by Maka’s lips on his.

Silly, silly boy.

He’s frozen by pure shock at first, but after a moment, he melts into her mouth and wraps his arms around her as she runs her fingers through his hair and deepens their kiss.

Ah, just how many times had she dreamed of this exact moment?

Out of breath, they stared at each other giddily, foreheads touching, neither succeeded to hide their goofy smiles.

“But why it had to be white roses?”

Soul smiles sheepishly, his dimples five times as charming from up close. “Well, uh… You babbled about it once, after you read those stupid flower books, that white roses used to be the symbol of romantic love, and eh—it also symbolizes devotions and eternal loyalty or something, so yeah… It kinda fits.”

Maka can’t help the sudden burst of affection.

“Dork.”

* * *

He’s finally started delivering her white roses in person the next year. A change that Maka prefers far too much than finding it sitting anonymously in front of her door.

On White Day, three years later, he’s standing on her doorstep, a single white rose tied in a white ribbon in hand.

Maka raises her eyebrow at the change, but quickly turns ten shades of red when she realizes a ring is also tied in the ribbon.

She takes the rose and brings it to her chest, sending him a bashful look. He only grins nervously.

“Dork.”

* * *


	3. Day 3: Midnight Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second thing Maka learned about Soul Eater Evans in a kitchen was that he bakes when he’s restless. At night.

The first thing Maka learned about Soul Eater Evans in a kitchen was that even though he was absolutely hopeless in cooking, he apparently could bake just fine.

After four kitchen damages and at least six fire alarms, his cooking skills improved, thank Death.

The second thing Maka learned about Soul Eater Evans in a kitchen was that he bakes when he’s restless. At night.

The first clue was a fresh stash of chocolate chip cookies she found on the kitchen table on the morning of their first mission.

The second was when she came home from an overnight stay at the dispensary, the first big injury she ever got from their missions. Oatmeal raisin cookies were stacked above the counter. She remembered how confused she was. Soul hates raisins.

She kind of forgot about this weird tendency until their first big fight, right after Soul came back from dispensary, with forty-six stitches patched on his chest. Their following sessions with Stein were horrible, and Maka kept finding brownies every morning. She didn’t eat any. She was still mad at him.

When she had to stay in the dispensary due to Arachne’s spell, he brought muffins for her every day. Maka knew they were homemade because they were baked in little shark-printed muffin cups she got him the week before.

He baked a whole apple pie when they got back from Bor-7 Factory in Russia. She heard him shuffling around the kitchen, smelling the thick aroma of cinnamon and apples, but was too tired to check. She thought she heard his voice whimpered something along the line of _‘I almost lost her, Blair…’_ but she wasn’t sure it was real or just her tiredness setting in.

It sort of escalated after the Russian fiasco, where he’d lost control of his madness. He refused to say anything, as usual, only grinning and muttered that he was okay. But his behavior said otherwise. At first, she only found little meringues. Then there were peanut butter blossoms on the cooling rack the following morning. Cinnamon rolls were next. And when Maka opened the fridge to see a whole black forest cake, she put her foot down.

Turned out it was not okay. Far from okay. The Black Blood drove him crazy every night, and his anxiety towards the whole Crona debacle came crashing down. It was their biggest argument yet, but at least it brought them closer in the end. And Maka finally learned to see and observe, to learn and understand her dear weapon better.

Since then, she would wordlessly join him whenever she hears pans and whisk clanking at midnight. Together, they bake throughout the witching hours, with sleepy Blair observing from atop the fridge.

After Kid’s coronation, his midnight baking kind of stops. She hasn’t been woken up by pans clanking at midnight, nor finds any sweets for months.

Everything is great, though not wholly perfect yet. The world is celebrating, and the madness is dissipating. Both she and Soul are content with their lot in the world. She supposed he could finally be truly happy.

They’re dancing around each other’s feelings, much like what they’d done for the past few years, only with added intensity and much rapid pace.

He finally confesses.

And everything in Maka’s world seems to fall in their righteous places.

Everything is good. Great. Fantastic. She wears dopey grins for days.

But then that morning, she finds macarons stacked beside her breakfast plate. They’re not Deathbucks’s macarons, that’s for sure. They’re pastel colored and soft, not black or orange with skull patterns.

“Did you make these?”

Soul stops his humming and flips the French toast over his pan. “No, Star made that. Of course I did.”

Maka stops her urge to kick his shin, taking a macaron and bites it. Almond.

“But you hate macarons! And almonds!”

“So?” he shrugs, tone indifferent. “You like it.”

Her face pinks without her permission. She’s an expert in hiding her embarrassment with puffed cheeks and snotty voice, however. “Stop beating around the bush, Evans. Are you really okay?” she adds the last bit with a softer tone, eyes searching his body language for any discomfort.

“I’m fiiiiine. Can’t a weapon make stupid cookie sandwiches because his meister happens to love stupid cookie sandwiches?”

He uses his irritated tone, but Maka can’t find any discomfort nor anxiety radiating from his soul. If anything, his soul seems very content and just plainly cheerful. There’s even a slight blush on his cheekbones.

Assured that he’s indeed perfectly happy, a bright grin cracks across Maka’s face. She abandons her breakfast to latch herself behind him. “Awww, you make them just for me? Even though you loathe almonds so much? You’re sooooo sweeeeet!”

“I’m not sweet!” His blush darkens and reaches the tip of his ears. “S’just cookies, Albarn. Get off me!”

“Blushy, sweet, sweet, cutie pie,” she coos. Soul with red ears are too adorable to not tease. She hugs him harder, little fingers sneakily run past his apron to tickle his stomach.

“Maka!” he yells between gasps and snickers, trying but failing miserably to use commanding tone. “I swear I will smack this toast onto your face! Let go!”

“Uh-uh!” Maka sticks her tongue out. “You love my face!”

In the middle of his blush-induced curses and helpless snickers, Maka is delighted to know that apparently, Soul Eater Evans also bakes when he’s happy.


	4. Day 4: Snowstorm/Ice storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” she squeaks, “Why do I have to sit near you?”
> 
> His eye twitches. “Survival, Albarn. Didn’t the books tell you sharing body heat is a legit way to survive cold weather?”

It was, entirely, Maka Albarn’s fault.

Most people would let it go when someone who bumped into them immediately apologized, but no, not Maka Albarn. She had to make a fuss and turned it into a big argument in front of half of the school.

Okay, maybe Soul was at fault too. He didn’t pay any attention—but he was tired after studying for exam the whole week, mind you—so he didn’t see her when he sleepily made his way to the lockers and crashed into her head on. Or chest on, as the top of her head was barely reaching his collarbones.

He’d said sorry, if only a bit drawled and accompanied by a snort, muttering that she was too tiny for him to see, but he’d said sorry, dammit, no need for her to get furious and turn it into an insulting match. But of course she would get mad. Of course she would take his thoughtless comment as a deathly insult. She’s always like that. They’re _always_ like that.

One would expect lab partners to get along more smoothly, but no, never with them. Their exchanges always end in arguments, or in some cases—like this one—in detentions.

But the worst thing was, in all the places she could’ve chosen, Albarn decided to lash out in front of Dr. Stein, the biology teacher who delights in his students’ misery. (Soul was no better, actually, choosing to insult her back right away, but he wouldn’t admit it under a death threat.) So here they are, punished to clear up the entire old gym (that had been transformed as trash warehouse for the past five years or so) and couldn’t go home until it’s spotless.

Normal teachers would punish them with something typical like writing apology letters or fifty push-ups in the hallway. But this was Stein. He never gives a typical detention.

It’s already 5 PM. Most of the school population already left, because it was exam week. Soul should’ve been enjoying his post-exam euphoria right about now, maybe by having an 18 hours-long sleep, but here he is, stuck with shitty cleaning duty because they had only cleared the first level and Albarn had the gall to hiss when he suggested they call it a day. Fucking perfectionist little gremlin.

Soul keeps grumbling and sweeps furiously, occasionally yawning and tries his best to keep his eyes peeled, until sunlight fades and he can’t see that well anymore. He throws a dirty look at Albarn, who huffs and gets up to turn on the light.

“Hey, you don’t plan to finish this tonight, right?” Soul calls her absently, though he still makes sure his voice is laced with annoyance.

“This gym will be used by female students next week and I want this finished before then!” she shoots back, words full of bites. “That way, I don’t have to kick you idiotic boys for bullying girls in basketball every PE class ever again. So shut your mouth and move your hands, Evans.”

“So what? You’re doing this out of spite? Gee, Albarn. How nice,” Soul scoffs, rolling his eyes. “But it’s still Friday. Friday! Stein didn’t actually say we have to finish today, you know?”

Albarn doesn’t reply, staring out at the cloudy sky with a scowl.

“Heeeey, y’hear me? Just go back in the morning. He can’t even tell! We have a whole weekend! C’mon, I’m hungry!”

Albarn straightens, and for a slight moment, Soul feels a chill running down his spine as she fixes him a burning glare and punches the lamp switch with more force than necessary. For the love of spicy tacos, how could a creature so tiny produce that sharp a death glare?

He gulps, watching warily as Albarn makes her way to the closed gym door, hand on the handle and eyes sharp on his.

“If you want to leave that much, then get out! Stop whining like a baby!”

Soul’s eye corner twitches. “Like hell I’ll leave you to clean the whole place and then accuse me of running from responsibilities for the next month!”

“Hah, as if lazybones like you knows the meaning of respon—”

Soul watches her freeze in the middle of her sentence, hand trying to open the door as her face pales. Albarn now turns all of her attention to the closed door, fruitlessly attempting to make it budge. A block of ice slides through Soul’s backbones when Albarn lifts her face and stares at him with green, round, horrified eyes.

“It’s locked.”

_What?_

“Wait, wait, wait, locked?!” Soul abandons his sweep, all sleepiness leaving him as he strides to her side and starts to turn the doorknob open as well. “Oh, shit.” It’s truly locked.

Outside, the first drop of rain hits the earth. Lightning and thunder announces the oncoming storm.

Albarn’s anger dissipates, replaced by a panicked look. “I-it must be because the caretaker thought it-it was empty a-and then locked the door. If we call someone—”

“How?” Soul raises his eyebrow. “This is the old gym. No one will hear us. And our phones are in our bags. In our lockers.”

“If we keep making noises maybe the caretaker will—”

“He’s already locked the buildings, which means he’d most likely gone home. And this is Friday. Post-exam week. Meaning no one would come to school until Monday.”

Albarn visibly gulps. Soul swallows his own panic and does his best in maintaining his cool face. Outside, he dons an indifferent mask, but inside, he’s screaming at how god never graces him with good luck. He’s hungry, tired, and irritated. He has no smartphones nor music players to soothe his incoming headache. His nose itches because he’s been among dusts and broken furniture for hours. And he’s probably doomed to spend his precious weekend with Maka Albarn; teacher’s pet extraordinaire. Things can never get worse.

“We can just use the windows!” Albarn brightens up, sticking out a finger. But before they could inspect if her splendid idea is possible, the weather decides it’s impossible to leave the building without soaking themselves to the bones.

Great. Things indeed can get worse.

Soul cringes at the pouring rain, which is blurred by the (locked, apparently) windows. Albarn does the same, bringing her arms to her chest.

“Guess we just have to wait,” Soul shrugs, walking towards the pile of faded banners they’d ditched at a corner and makes himself comfortable, trying not to think about his current predicament too much. Exhaustion makes itself known again, now doubled because he’d been lifting broken furniture for the past few hours.

Albarn hesitates for a minute, but eventually stalks to him, as it’s the warmest spot in the room. She’s careful with their distance, however, slumping at least two meters away and busying herself by grumbling incoherent curses. Soul closes his eyes and hums his favorite songs, dozing off as the temperature steadily drops with every passing minutes.

He’s startled back to alertness by a little sneeze. He wrinkles his face at the disturbance until he realizes it was Albarn who made the noise. She looks pitiful, pale and hunched into a ball, hands stroking her arms in an attempt to warm herself. Now when he sees her clearly, she only wears the school cardigan over her uniform shirt, without the warm blazer, since they were cleaning the gym. It’s lucky he’d tied his thick army jacket around his hips instead of leaving it inside his locker, so he has something to stave off the cold.

“Hey,” he coughs. Albarn peeks at him out of her crossed arms, still managing to look irritated with just one raised eyebrow. “Cold?”

She just huffs and buries her face in her arms again. Soul rolls his eyes. Stubborn idiot. He yawns and just about to doze off again when new noises come into his ears. It’s light, like a pebble thrown into concrete, only that it comes in great numbers and continues in steady rhythm.

He jerks upright and blinks disbelievingly at the window. “It fucking _hails?!”_

God. He thought he’d already had his lesson that things can always get worse.

Indeed, the lightning is lessened, but the water droplets have transformed into ice pellets. Albarn shudders, sneezing again. Soul actually takes pity at how she hugs herself and rubs her arms continuously.

“Hey, you okay?”

She stubbornly scowls. “Of course.”

Too bad her red nose and trembling fingers betray her words. Soul makes a face. “Admit it. You’re cold.”

“No!”

“Your teeth are chattering.”

“Th-they’re not!”

Stubborn, bull-headed girl. Soul exhales and pats the space beside him. “C’mere.”

“What?” she squeaks, “Why do I have to sit near you?”

His eye twitches. “Survival, Albarn. Didn’t the books tell you sharing body heat is a legit way to survive cold weather?”

“No way!” she squawks, scandalized, bulging her eyes as if he’d just proposed they elope to Vegas and have five kids. The red on her nose spreading all over her face.

Honestly, Soul is very, very tired. He’s not in the mood to think about appropriateness and personal spaces. He doesn’t even have the energy to feel any sort of shyness. Despite their constant arguments and banters, Soul isn’t that heartless of a jerk to let a girl suffer, thank you very much. It doesn’t hurt that he’s been known as a space heater either. So he just yawns, one hand scratching the back of his neck, the other reaching over at her, inviting.

“Just c’mere, nerd. Deflate your head a bit and just focus on survival. I’m so tired, I don’t feel like dragging your frozen corpse out in the morning.”

He almost dozed off again when she finally inches her way towards him, face entirely scarlet and teeth biting her lower lip. The coldness from her fingers jolts him awake when their hands accidentally brush.

“You’re freezing!” he frowns, taking her hands to compare their temperature.

“I-I’m okay!” she yanks her hand back, leaning away, but Soul has no fuck left to deal with her stupid pride and just wraps his arm around her, earning a muffled yelp from the girl.

Soul closes his eyes again, steady rhythm of hailstones hitting the roof lulling him back to sleep. It was lost to him how Albarn tries her best to stifle down her blush or how she does breathing exercise to stabilize her heartbeat.

He only opens his eyes once, seeing the usually feisty girl dozing off soundlessly on his chest, their temperature finally the same. The last thing he remembers before he drifts off is that she has a surprisingly sweet and innocent sleeping face.

Huh. Interesting.

* * *

On the second level of the old gym, hidden by the railing, Patty Thompson pokes her sister.

“Sissy, should we tell them we have heater here? Or that Kid gave us the spare key?”

Liz Thompson, her sister, just yawns and curls closer to the portable heater, stealing a peek at the couple snuggled together below them.

“Nah, they’re good.”


End file.
